The First Assassin
by mirrorballsymphony
Summary: A drunken Samuel Vimes, stumbling through the streets of the city, is confronted by a would-be Assassin. Of course, it was Vetinari who sent him. Rated T for really mild violence and my own paranoia.


The City Watch stumbled drunkenly through the streets.

Well, this was two-thirds of the City Watch. But they were stumbling enough for three.

'Wosser, wosser, wosser,' Vimes was murmuring.

'Sam?' Colon asked concernedly, slightly more sober than the Watch captain.

Vimes turned his drunken head towards Colon. 'Wosser,' he said.

Colon nodded, confused.

Vimes seemed satisfied, and span a beer cap down the road. Then he threw the beer bottle over a wall.

'Careful, sir. That's where them loony monks live.'

'Ah, what they gonna do?'

'Well, sir, they're loony monks. They could do anything.'

Vimes looked around through the murky eyes of the drunk. 'Where's Nobby?'

'Rehearsals, sir.'

'What, his historical whatnot? In Watch hours?'

'Well, sir, you are-' Colon stopped, deciding it would probably be better to not point out what Mister Vimes was doing in Watch hours. 'No, sir, it's the Morris dancing.'

'Wha?'

'Morris dancing. It's where you dance around wearing tights and bells.' Colon's knowledge of dancing wasn't great.

Vimes laughed aloud, and for a minute it sounded like the laugh of sobriety. 'Hah. Pull the other one, it's got bells on.'

'Sir, are you alright to get back to the Watch house. I mean, you could stay at mine for the night.'

'What would your missus say?' Vimes did an odd sort of dance, as if he was trying to warm up in the mild May night. 'She don't like me.' He leaned forward and poked Colon in the stomach.

'Well, I wouldn't say that,' Colon said democratically. It was true, though. It was hard to like a drunk Sam Vimes. There was something not right about the image, even though he had been drunk for the best part of ten years.

'Look,' he said. 'I'll take you back to the Watch house.'

He realised that the noise of Sam's feet tapping on the cobbles had stopped. 'Sam?' he called.

Away in the distance, he saw a figure swaying as he walked.

'Aw, come on,' he muttered.

He followed him anyway. There was such a thing as loyalty.

So he was the only person to see that one shadow was darker than the ones around it. In the back of his memory, he remembered that it was a young Sam Vimes who had taught him that.

'Sam,' he hissed. Vimes didn't turn around. 'Sam!'

Suddenly, the shadow moved. Colon made himself stand completely still.

Ahead of him, Vimes stumbled on. Then he stood dead still.

The shadow stopped too.

With movements so fast that he was a blur, Vimes turned and grabbed the man, wrenching his arm up to his throat. The would-be attacker gurgled quietly, but evidently decided not to say anything.

'Who sent you?' Vimes growled.

The man stayed silent, but Colon could see the whites of his eyes.

Vimes obviously pressed a little harder, because the man's knees started to wobble. 'Who?'

'Vetinari!' the man managed to gasp. Looking down, Colon could see that Vimes had pressed the tip of his knife against his stomach.

'Who?' Vimes asked, confused.

'One of the nobles, sir,' Colon said helpfully. 'Says he's gonna be next Patrician, but no one knows much about him.'

'Yeah, right,' Vimes murmured. 'Why?' he asked the man.

'I don't ask.'

Vimes peered closer. 'You are an Assassin, right? I thought you had to know why. Guild honour, and all that.'

The man tried to shrug. 'I asked why, he said it was better not to know.'

'But he wants me dead.'

'Yes.'

'Hmm.' Vimes released the man and started fiddling with a bottle cap. The man froze, not knowing what to do.

After a moment, which felt like a decade, Vimes looked up. 'I'm not going to kill you,' he informed the terrified Assassin. 'But I could have.'

The assassin sighed with relief, then crumpled as Vimes kneed him in the trousers. For good measure, Vimes bopped him on the head with the truncheon, and his eyes closed.

Colon poked him. 'Yep. Out like a light.'

Vimes nodded absentmindedly and put the truncheon back in his pocket.

'That was a bit harsh, cap'n,' Colon said slowly. 'After all, he didn't kill you.'

'I didn't let him,' Vimes said, a little smugly.

'Yeah, well, you didn't need to knee him in the privates.'

'He should have worn a dinner plate. He knew who he was dealing with.'

And up in the room of a house overlooking the house, Havelock Vetinari listened to one of his informants.

'So he's not dead.'

The woman, a helpful Seamstress, nodded.

There was only a calm consideration in Vetinari's steely blue eyes. 'Maybe he'll be useful, then.'


End file.
